


Road to Tomorrow

by Roriette



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Asphyxiation, Blood, Cannibalism, Dark, Gore, Horror, Inspired by The Walking Dead, Multi, Survival, Violence, Zombie Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-25
Updated: 2014-05-27
Packaged: 2018-01-26 10:27:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1685024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roriette/pseuds/Roriette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Name: Eren Jaeger<br/>Age: 9<br/>Status: Alive<br/>Ailment: Unbitten<br/>Parents: Dead</p><p>When you wake up, the world is already ending.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to Erurenweek and the zombie apocalypse.  
> You are Eren.
> 
> I'm still deciding whether to leave Eren at age 9 or use my handy dandy timeskips to make Eruren (legally) happen, but either way, there is NO pedophilia.  
> but there's plenty of other things. What better way to kick off erurenweek than a grimy as shet apocalypse?

**Road to Tomorrow**

Day 1: _First Death_

**~ ~ ~**

You wake up to the sound of gunshots, two of them, pierce the silence of the night. You panic – _what's going on –_ and you get up, but everywhere is dark, is black, and you can't see.

"Mom? Dad?" Your voice trembles, you're shivering. "M-mom? Dad!" you try again. You climb off the bed, and as soon as your feet touch the hard cement, your blood runs cold.

_You're not in your bedroom._

You're panicking now, truly panicking now. Where's the door, _where are you_ , you need to get out – are mom and dad okay? They have to be okay, there's _no way_ they can't be, you're scared, please let them be all okay – _please_.

Fumbling around in the dark, with no windows to let in light, with nothing to go on, while your head hurtles into turmoil, you bump into something. You hiss in pain and nurse the bruise on your elbow, but now's not the time for that. You don't stop, searching, groping blindly for something, anything, and miraculously, you feel it.

A light switch.

You slam it up, and suddenly, you can see. Everything is illuminated in bright white, and your eyes adjust to the change. You recognize the S-figure chair that your father's patients sit on, the shelves of pharmaceutical herbs and medicines lined up along the walls, the surgical equipment on a silver platter on the table, and an empty syringe in the trashcan.

You're in the basement.

Quickly, you're turning around and running up the stairs, two steps at a time, you're frantic. Everything's a blur, and you trip, banging your knee on the step. You pick yourself up with a growl, and you're at the door.

 _Bang!_ You wrench it open, screaming, "Mom, dad, mom, dad!"

"Guhh..."

A shudder runs down your spine, your hair stands on end, as that _thing_ moves toward you. What is it? What _is_ that? You can't see very well. Aside from the light from the basement, everything is dark, shadowed.

That thing is dragging, moving slowly, its arms outstretched, and it's coming toward you inch by inch, from the kitchen. It's closing in. You back away.

"Nguh..."

"D-don't come over here, o-or I'll kill you," you warn, but your stutters only give away your fear. You reach behind to feel for anything you can use, but all you feel is the solid wall and the door digging into your back. Desperate, blood pumping madly, cold fright freezing you up, you lean away from the outstretched hands and shriek, "I'll kill you!"

The more it drags itself toward you, the better you can see. It looks like a human, even though the sounds it makes and the smell it carries are all so... _dead_. And then, from the small light of the basement, you can make out a fabric on the thing.

An apron.

Your _mother's_ apron.

"M-mom?" the whisper comes out of your mouth, and you can taste the relief. It's mom, she's okay, she's fine. You're not alone. "Mom, what's going on? I-I heard a gun. Mom?"

You step forward instead of backing away this time, but there's something about this that doesn't make sense. There's something wrong. There's something about this whole thing that has you on edge.

There's a booming sound from outside; it's a storm, and you can already hear the pelting rain against the curtained windows.

"Guhh..."

"M-mom, are you okay?” you ask, voice barely there. You're afraid. “Are you hurt?" You step closer.

Now you can smell the stench, and you almost hurl. It's worse than rotten milk for sure. It's the stench of _decay_. It's the stench of something dead. It's disgusting, and the sourness of vomit rolls around your mouth.

There are hands on your shoulders; the grotesque smell is filling your nostrils and numbing your mind. The hands are bringing you in, and you don't move – you _can't_ move. "M-mom?" you whisper shakily.

There's something horribly wrong, but you don't know what it is.

You pull back slightly, but the grasp on your shoulders tightens. Mom is making those noises again, those inhumane moans that sound like a suffering animal. Now that you're so close, those sounds make you break out in cold sweat. "Mom, what are you doing?" you ask, anxiety gripping your voice tightly.

She's holding you in place, and her head is slowly reaching for your neck.

"Stop, mom, let go!" you yell, frantic and scared out of your mind. You ward her off with your hands, pushing her face away.

She's snarling, her teeth bared, and in the back of your mind, you're thinking _that's not mom, that's not mom, you're not mom_ –

Then, a clasp of thunder and a flash of lightning, and you see something you wish you would have never seen.

Where your mother's kind, sometimes stern, brown eyes were, are sunken sockets. Her skin is ashen gray, stripped of their healthy complexion, and her hair is wiry, black threads, wrung dry of their nutrients, wrung dry like the rest of her body. You realize you're not looking at her face anymore; you're looking at her skull.

You scream.

The louder you scream, the more active this thing becomes, and now she's – you don't know what it is anymore, not sure if it's mom, not sure if it's a monster, not sure if this is a nightmare – _strangling_ you now.

You choke, tears leaking out your eyes, and it's so hard to breathe.

She wraps her hands tighter around your neck, her fingers digging into your skin, squeezing, her thumbs pressing on your windpipe. You struggle, but you can't breathe, and it hurts so much; you're gasping for air, trying to scream for help, but you sound like a dying animal.

You're going to die.

You're going to die here, at the hands of your mother.

Her mouth is widening. You can see the rotten skin that's peeling away; she's just bones, teeth, and drool.

Mom...

_Why are you doing this?_

You fight the pain and open your eyes, and the blank, dead sockets stare back.

_Why?_

She doesn't answer. She continues to dig her fingers in, and you're wheezing, strengthless.

_I'm Eren! Your son, Eren! Wake up, mom, you're going to kill me, you're strangling me, I...can't...breathe, why...mom...mom..._

You don't want to die, you're _scared_. But your vision is blackening, and her teeth, her mouth, she wants to eat you, she's ready to bite into your brain. You close your eyes tightly, shaking yourself left and right, but the more you struggle, the more suffocating the strangulation, and you asphyxiate.

It feels like the last seconds of your life. Everything was so perfect just a day ago; you were at the park with mom, and dad was there, too, in one of those rare moments that he would be home with his family. All three of you were having fun, laughing, smiling, and then you were being led down the basement by dad, the door locked behind you.

What happened then...you don't remember much. It's all hazy.

All that matters is that right now, you can't keep your eyes open anymore. The last seconds of your life are squeezed out of you.

Just as her teeth graze your forehead, a booming shot is fired, and something is propelled straight through the area between her eyes into the wall behind you. Her hands loosen around your neck, cold sprays of blood and pieces of something squishy and warm land on your face. You drop to the floor, eyes twitching madly and jaw slack with horror.

You can't feel; you can't think. All you can do is stare at the discolored corpse of your mother, blood leaking from her split head. Your heart thrums in your ears rapidly. Red liquid drips down your face to your neck, where fingerprints are raw and imprinted, marring your skin.

You hear footsteps, and you raise your blank eyes slowly.

The silhouette of an armored and masked man towers over you, the gun in his hand facing you. He lowers it to his side and bends down, crouching on one knee. The circular lenses and protruding mouth piece of the gas mask make him alien.

He doesn't look human.

Neither did your mother.

Who's human?

Are you human?

"My name is Erwin," the man says. His voice is muffled and robotic behind the mask. He speaks slowly, enunciates clearly. He's facing you, but you don't see his eyes. You don't see much of anything. "I won't harm you. You'll be safe with me, I promise." He pauses, as if giving you time to absorb the information. "What's your name? Is there anyone else with you?"

"You killed mom," you reply.

A split second of hesitation, and then he nods.

"Are you going to kill me too?"

He answers, "No."

"Why?"

"You're not one of them,” he says.

 _One of what?_ You wonder hazily. Not that you really care. What is there to care about? Everything that you care about is already taken from you.

“You're alive."

"She was alive, too. You killed her." You sound dead, but there's something stirring in you. You don't know what it is, because all you want is to unsee it. Delete it. Erase the memory of seeing your mom's head split open, of having her brain matter splatter all over your face, of having her blood dirty your body. Erase this nightmare.

The stranger with the gas mask reaches behind his head and undoes the clasp. With a snap and a tug, the mask comes off.

Behind his mask, he's human. His blue eyes tell you that he's alive. They're all you can see in the dark.

"I'm sorry." His eyes don't lie. He's sincere, genuine.

You don't know what to feel. "You're a murderer," you spit.

But somewhere in the more logical part of your brain, you wonder – is he?

"Your mother was already dead. She was turned. Do you know the fate of those turned?" His eyes don't falter, and you can't help but stare back, numb like the scared child you are, alone like never before. Stranded on a desert, with no end in sight; you're just a kid who has nothing left to hold onto. "They become brainless undead that prey on human flesh. They eat anyone and everyone, whether it's their child, their friend, or their lover. They have no choice, because they're no longer human. Do you know what would happen if I didn't shoot her?"

_I would become one of them. Just like her. Just like...mom._

He sees the resignation in your eyes, and he nods. "Even if we don't want it, this is now our only method of survival. We have no alternative. Only by stepping on the dead will we continue living. Only when we constantly venture forward can we walk on this road to tomorrow. This is our world now." His voice is low, solemn. He resonates truth, not hope, yet it makes you believe in something that may have been hope.

You remember the corpse of your mother and her hands around your neck, wringing you to near death. Suddenly, you're choking again, while the bile rises from your throat, and you feel sick, utterly sick.

"We have no more time." The man named Erwin stands up, hand withdrawing his gun. "If you wish to bade farewell to your parents, do it now. I'm sorry I can't give you more time. _They_ are coming."

You're swallowing tears, but your dry throat makes it difficult. Everything is difficult. How can you say goodbye to your mother, your father, your _home_ just like this? Like it doesn't matter at all? As if you can just throw them away with a snap of your fingers, like it's something easy? How can you just leave your mother's body like this, on the floor, blending in with the furniture now, and go on without a second's thought? How does he expect you to be so heartless, when you're human?

"I can't," you say. "I can't _leave_ her like this without a burial. S-s-she's my mom. I can't - I'm going to stay. I have to stay." You're walking over to the deterioration that is the remains of your mother. Puke is on the tip of your tongue, but you continue on, until you're next to your mom, the blood from her wounded head drying under your shoes. Even when you try so hard to rein in the tears, once you see her gaping mouth and hollow eyes, you're a crying mess.

You're broken. This image will forever be engraved in your mind, and gradually, it will take the place of the warm, graceful face of your mother. Throughout your sobs, you say things that you would never have said when she was alive. Things that you will know only the importance of once she's gone. Once everything is gone. _I miss you, I love you, mom, I'm sorry for not listening to you when you were still there. I'm sorry for being such a bad son. I never made my bed the way you want me to, didn't go to bed at my curfew, and never told you or dad how much you meant to me. I miss you, I miss you, mom, I really do. I hate this, how can you leave me like this, all by myself?_

_I'm sorry. But from now on, I –_

"We have to go."

You feel yourself picked up by the waist, and you immediately struggle, eyes wide. "No! No! No! I didn't, I'm not done, let me go!" You thrash, bang your small fists on the broad back of the man carrying you, yell, and cry. "Mom! Let _go_! I have to, mom! Mom!"

You feel the open air flying past you as you're being carried out of your home, and when you see those hunched figures scattered in every corner of the streets, you can't help but scream louder.

A quick chop to the back of your neck has you closing your eyes, forced into unconsciousness. The blurred picture of your home getting farther and farther away lull you into sleep. Wet tear streaks on your cheeks and your clenched fists are your message to the world.

You may be broken. You may have lost your parents, your home, your childhood. But you haven't given up yet.

This is far from over.

You will kill them all.

The zombies.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to keep up with the daily prompts. I tried...and have failed. this is day 3's prompt: protection.

****Road to Tomorrow****

Day 2:  __Protection__

**__~~~_ _ **

You wake up to a pleasant heat. It hugs the front of your body with warmth, and sometimes it burns, but it burns in such a way that you never want to get up.

A damp moisture dragging across your face prickles you from your exhausted slumber, and you begrudgingly let the tails of sleep fade. You had been grabbing at its ends in a desperate attempt to grasp onto blind safety. It's tempting, to melt into the abyss and hide from the world. To feel secure for just a second.

But you wake up, slip away from the restless sleep, and you wake up with a start, "Mom!"

As your vision comes into focus, you see blonde hair, blue eyes, high cheekbones, a man, instead of the medium length black hair and warm light brown irises of your mother. Panic sets in, and you look around frantically, as if expecting to see her back facing you as she does the dishes, or your father sitting at the table, reading a newspaper. The shine and polished gleam of the kitchen, wool jacket and white apron hanging on the clothes stand in the living room, endless shelves of novels and medical books lining the walls. Your home.

All you see is wood all around you, stacked on each other to form walls, a lit fireplace, dirt floor, and windows on each side of the door. Outside, the sky is bright orange transcending into dim blue, sign of dusk. The hum of cicadas thrumming in the air. Inside, the cackling fire is the only source of light and warmth.

"Where...am I?" you ask. The uncomfortable feeling of the unknown has you anxious, has you scared and afraid. It's something you can't help but give into.

The man before you stands up and walks over to the window. Instead of looking out directly, he presses against the wooden wall and peeks from the side.

Confused and lost as you are, you raise your voice and ask again, "Can you tell me –"

"Shh."

You meet his blue eyes, and he looks at you for a solid moment. Gulping a clump of nervousness, you cross your mouth with a finger to show you understand. Even though the situation is so unreal, like something right out of a horror movie, you want to trust this man. He saved your life, after all. You _have_ to trust him.

Erwin returns your compliance with a small smile and a nod. He goes back to surveying the exterior, slowly raising his arm, hand clenched tightly around the shotgun and finger on the trigger.

A minute passes in complete silence, until you hear the whirr of engines and loud music from the outside. They're coming closer and closer. They must be driving up to this log cabin. You don't know what to do. What if it's those things again? The zombies? What if they break in and eat you? What should you do?

You glance around the cabin. Nothing but dirt under your sneakers; it's pretty empty aside from the fireplace. Then, you notice the pile of logs in the right corner, next to a gas mask and travel bag, and you sneak over to grab one out of the collection, crouched over so no one can see you from the windows. You hold the log to your chest.

"Don't worry."

Erwin's voice catches your attention. He's whispering, gaze set outside the window, but you hear him.

"This will be over soon. We'll be fine, so as long as you trust me."

It'll be over soon, you repeat to yourself. When you do that, it makes you believe it all the more. That it truly will be over, that everything will be fine.

"Don't open the door at any cost. If they use force, hit them as hard as you can. Stay quiet as possible," Erwin orders, commands firing one after the other, and you try to keep up. "Don't be afraid. If they look in the window, lie down on the floor. They won't be able to see you."

"Okay." Your heart's trying to beat out of your chest, your hands on the makeshift weapon sweat. There are footsteps coming up the stairs, loud and fearless, blaring music from some sort of automobile recklessly giving away their presence. You glance at Erwin and see his thick brows furrow, lips thinned, muscles tensed. You look back at the door, check the lock, and now you feel less secure.

"Yo, we can sleep in 'er. Don't look like no one's in there."

A man's voice. Slurred words.

Your fingers tighten around the log.

"Check if there's anyone!" a new voice calls out from a distance. Must be the driver in the car.

"'Aight, chill, man," the first voice responds, annoyance clear in his tone. He raps on the door three times, barking, "Hey! Anyone home? Helloooo? Me and my friend just wanna place to stay tonight!" He stops. "Nick, turn the fucking music down, will ya? Can't hear _shit_."

There's the sound of the doorknob being turned. You hold your breath.

The door remains fixedly closed. You let out a breath.

"Nick, man, I think someone's in there. This thing's shut tight."

The door shakes as the man outside pushes against it.

"Check the windows, retard. Here, take this."

"Fuck you, always making me do the labor."

"I'm the one getting the beers, will you shut up and do it already, goddamn."

Erwin waves his free hand. You look over and follow suit, dropping down on the floor, body flat on the dirty ground and directly underneath the window. Erwin's in the same position, lying under the opposite window. 'Stay calm,' he mouths.

You're shaking, but you nod quickly.

A shadow looms from above. You lower your head until you're touching the dirt and grass, bated breath dancing with bated silence. _Please, please, please..._

"Ya see anything?"

"I don't know, man. There's a fireplace and some shit in the corner over, but ain't nobody around. Think we should just break in?"

Your ears perk up, and you look over at Erwin desperately. He takes in your anxiety, shakes his head, and taps his ear with his index.

_Listen?_

You shut your eyes, and it relaxes you slightly, enough so you can focus on other things besides the man who hasn't moved from the spot right above you, the strangers' conversation, the music blasting from the car, and the constant whisper of danger. You tune your ears in, unsure of what you're supposed to be listening for, and it takes a few minutes until you hear a familiar sound all around the cabin.

It's the abysmal crows of the undead, the gritty, suffering groans that send cold shivers down your spine. Flashes of your mother run through your unsettled mind. Ash-grey skin, sunken eyes, drooling mouth, inhuman, mindless savage. Those things are in groups, numbers of them surround the log house, and you can hear their dragging feet, their thirst for blood, blend into the low hum of the vehicle.

"They're here," you whisper shakily. They're really here. They're here to eat you. No. You won't let them, won't let them even land a scratch on you. Not until you avenged your mother, your father, humanity. You won't let them have it their way. It's far from over! Just wait -

A crashing noise disrupts your mental tirade, and you glance up to see the windows quiver. The exterior pane seems to be close to shattering; there's a sharp dent in it. They're using an axe to break in!

"Damn, almost got through. Nick, hand?"

"Wait, Paul, you hearing this?"

"Hear what? Get your lazy ass out and help me. This ain't easy, okay?"

"Woah...what _are_ those things...Nick, get over here, we're leaving! Do you _see_ those muthafuckers? We can't stay here, let's go!"

"Look, I'm fucking hungry, hung over, and tired. I'm almost - "

An ugly scream pierces the dusk, and you rise to your feet despite Erwin's signal for you to stay put. Eyes wide, you take in the sight of the stranger, a man in his mid-twenties, struggle as an undead wraps its arms around his torso, holding him in place as it chomps into his neck. It gnaws and grate its teeth sloppily until it breaks through skin, through tendons, through bones, down to the marrows, while blood splashes onto the cracked window pane.

"H-h-help! Help!" the man shrieks, breathless, in tears, head cocked to the side unnaturally as the zombie takes a chunk from his neck. Blood runs in rivers and gushes like a stream.

You raise the log in your arms. Should you break the window and help him? Can you do it? Can you save this man? Is it too late?

"Help!"

The man's pleas cut off into a shrill, strangled scream when another undead bites his ear, rotten teeth drilling in until the shell disappears.

Blood. Skin. Bones. Organs. The man disappears inch by inch as the zombies do away with his body.

You're frozen.

_H-help...why do you stand there? Why don't you help me? Save me? Are you scared? Scared of losing your life? You're a monster, too. You won't save a man who's right in front of you. Watch me die as you escape free. Worthless child. Monster –_

The dying message in the stranger's eyes before they vanish into the undead's mouth.

You puke.

You cough, spitting the sourness of the throw-up on the dirt floor. Your hands quiver and drop the forgotten piece of wood. Disoriented, dizzy, sick to the stomach, you can barely hold yourself up. Right before you lose your footing, two warm hands on your shoulders stop the fall. Like pillars, they keep you in place, raising you up, even though you want to just collapse into the abyss.

You don't deserve to be alive.

You fall against the chest, burying your face into your savior's shirt. Arms, strong ones, used to combat, wrap around you.

Wordlessly, the two of you hold each other up, a man and a child, strangers brought together in the face of calamity.

Within these strong arms, you start sobbing.

He doesn't console you with lies, lies like "Everything will be okay," because the unwritten truth is that everything will never be okay.

This is the world now.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Speedwriting makes me cry. But hope you guys like anyway! Thank you :D


End file.
